The Truth About Keeping Secrets(23)

I took an unsatisfying breath and moved forward.

Somehow the sweat on my palms hadn’t frozen, I realized, as I tugged on the door of the passenger side.

‘Morning, girly,’ June said, all sing-song, after I’d collapsed into the seat.

‘Hi,’ was all I managed to squeak out.

June or the car. I couldn’t settle on which scared me more. Of course, it wasn’t the car that scared me, it was the sudden stop, and it wasn’t June that scared me, it was myself in front of her.

I couldn’t swallow. God, I hadn’t thought it was going to be this bad. But I had to do it. Exposure therapy. I couldn’t just go my entire life without ever being in a car again. But when I looked out over the dashboard all I could think about was whether Dad had enough time to think about anything before the windshield carved up his torso, if unconscious really meant unconscious, how half a second of blinding, earth-shattering pain probably feels longer than a whole entire life …

‘We don’t have to do this,’ June said. I turned to her. She’d noticed my unease, evidently, and her eyes slanted in a sympathetic grimace. ‘Like, listen, I know it isn’t what this is about, but I’m a good driver, and I’ll – I can go slow, warn you at turns. Whatever helps.’

I studied her face, all big eyes and full cheeks and warm skin. She didn’t look tired. And if she was thinking about how pathetic I was, she certainly wasn’t showing it.

‘So, drive?’

I chewed my lip, which wasn’t enough of a response. Nodded. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’

We started down the street.

The silence was unbearable. Just tyres crushing thin snow and June’s nails clicking against the steering wheel. The world spun past with a strange sense of unreality; the light from the lamp posts was too bright but everything else seemed somehow too dark and even the way the falling snow trembled felt menacing. I got an overwhelming sense that I wasn’t really here, that we weren’t really here, like we were actually just sitting stationary on top of one of those rolling street screens they used in old movies. The experience should have been accompanied by a shrill violin crescendo.

But nothing leaped from the shadows. Nothing jolted to a stop.

Each passing headlight threatened to ram into us, my heart skipping beats in response to each imagined collision. But nothing hit. Nothing broke. Nothing died.

It was fine.

June kept looking at me; for any feedback, I assumed, which was kind but also made me very aware of my own face. ‘How can I help?’ she finally asked, maybe five minutes in, when I’d taken to jamming my middle fingers into my temples.

Say something. Anything. I tried to hide my embarrassment by speaking quickly. ‘Can you just talk?’ Any stimulus. Anything besides doom.

We pulled up to the intersection of Main and College – we’d be at school in five minutes. I looked to her; she smirked, the blaze of the stoplight casting a deep red glow on to her face. ‘Oh, man. Yeah, I can do that. About what? Anything?’

‘Yeah. Anything would be good.’ Green. Forward. I paid close attention to the glove compartment, tried to will the heat into me to keep my teeth from chattering.

‘Oof. OK. That’s a lot of responsibility, Whitaker.’

Whitaker. That was nice.

‘OK. We’re just going to do a stream of consciousness thing here and hope for the best. I like that it’s snowing today. I think it’s pretty. I … had some yogurt for breakfast. With blueberries. I love blueberries. God, is this all I have to talk about? Am I really that boring?’

I let her voice wrap me up, tuck me in, rub my back.

‘I actually sort of like driving to school in the morning because it’s kind of that weird time where it’s dark out but people are awake and have the lights on in their houses and stuff and I like to look inside sometimes and see what the people are doing. Is that weird?’

‘A little.’

‘It’s like – what are they called – liminal spaces? Places that are just for moving through instead of staying in. That’s what the drive feels like. Normally I’ll listen to music or something. I have a whole Spotify playlist specifically for mornings. Lotta chill vibes. We don’t have to do that right now. Some other time. Um, OK, what else … I was actually kind of bummed this morning because I found out one of my ferns has mites so when I get home I have to sort that out.’

‘Ferns?’

‘Oh yeah. I’m a plant mom.’

Due to the strangeness of the night before, I couldn’t decipher the tone of the ride. The cup holder between us felt bulky and I couldn’t stop my legs from fidgeting.

‘Also, I’m … sorry I dragged you into this, dude. I’m not sure the environmental benefits of carpooling are worth whatever, like, mental deterioration I’ve forced upon you.’

I scoffed. ‘Is that what this is really about? The environmental benefits?’

‘Oh, for sure. I took one look at you and thought, “Shit, that girl looks like she has a significant ecological footprint.” ’

I smiled.

‘No, I told you, I live on the way anyways, and, you know. Whatever helps.’

‘Whatever helps,’ I repeated.

‘Fine. If you’re so set on this being a quid pro quo arrangement, then I’m not doing this to be nice; I’m expecting compensation within three to five business days.’